


I'm Not Loose, I Like to Party

by NotALemon



Series: Boys Boys Boys (& Other Songs On My Nightsilver Playlist) [3]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, No Song Lyrics, Peter Still Thinks He's Too Old For Kurt, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Shotgunning, Small German Phrases Peppered In, They Smoke Some Grass, first I love you, happy crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 06:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotALemon/pseuds/NotALemon
Summary: Peter’s pretty sure he’s going to set off a smoke alarm somewhere. Does this place evenhavesmoke alarms? Does Peter evencare?He puffs on a joint, tempted to ask the Professor if they have smoke alarms here, except he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be setting a good example for the younger students. Yeah, right. If you want someone to be a good example, turn to Scott, not some burnout who used to live in his mom’s basement playing video games all day and now lives in some weird mansion doing the same damn thing.





	I'm Not Loose, I Like to Party

Peter’s pretty sure he’s going to set off a smoke alarm somewhere. Does this place even _have_ smoke alarms? Does Peter even _care_? 

He puffs on a joint, tempted to ask the Professor if they have smoke alarms here, except he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be setting a good example for the younger students. Yeah, right. If you want someone to be a good example, turn to Scott, not some burnout who used to live in his mom’s basement playing video games all day and now lives in some weird mansion doing the same damn thing. 

Whatever. Peter’s known he’s never _really_ going to do anything with his life for a while. What are you supposed to do when you can’t compare anything to the rush of super speed? 

Drugs, Peter supposed. G-d, it’s been forever since he’s gotten high. Too much has been going on. 

“Peter?” 

Shit, Kurt’s back. How long has it been since Peter lit up? 

“Yeah?” 

“What are you doing?” The bed sinks next to Peter, and Peter shrugs. 

“Smoking,” Peter says. He holds the point in Kurt’s direction. “Want some?” 

“Is smoking not bad for you?” 

“I don’t care.” Peter doesn’t know how he’s supposed to explain he likes feeling weightless, floating in the smoke of the room, so he doesn’t. He takes another hit, lets the smoke sit in his lungs before blowing it out. “Sure you don’t want some?” 

Kurt bites his lip, hesitating. 

“That’s hot,” Peter says. 

“What?” 

“When you do that with your lip and your teeth just- stick out there.” Peter reaches up to trail along Kurt’s lips. “You’re- You’re hot.” 

Kurt ducks his head. God, he’s so shy and adorable. Peter hopes he never grows out of that childlike shyness. 

G-d, Peter’s way too old for Kurt. 

Peter sits up. “No, seriously. Like… you’re so hot.” He knows it’s lame, but it’s the truth, and it’s the best thing he can come up with when his head’s full of smoke. The second best thing is a variation of “I’m too old for you, you deserve someone better (and your own age), and you’re too good for me, anyway”. 

Kurt tilts his head, and Peter prays to every god he can think of (and a couple superheroes and villains, hello, dad) that he didn’t say any of the out loud. 

“I think I would like to try some,” Kurt says. 

Peter lets himself relax. “Yeah, sure.” He hands the joint to Kurt and leans back. “Keep it in your lungs.” 

“What?” 

“Lemme show you.” Peter takes the joint from Kurt’s hands, takes a hit, and holds in the smoke, exaggerating to make sure Kurt understands each step. Then he blows the smoke near Kurt’s face. Not at him, just near him. 

“I have to hold my breath?” 

Peter nods. 

Kurt takes the joint carefully, holds it like it’s made of glass, and tries replicating Peter’s steps. He coughs a little, but nowhere near as bad as Peter did when he first tried. 

“How’re you so good with smoke?” 

“I bamf,” Kurt says, as if it explains everything. 

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Peter thinks about it- really thinks- and yeah, that does make sense. Disappearing in a cloud of smoke is something you probably get used to. 

Kurt tries again, this time holding the smoke like Peter showed him before blowing it out. 

“You’re a natural,” Peter says. 

Kurt beams. 

Peter leans close to Kurt, pressing their foreheads together. He looks deep into Kurt’s eyes. “Hi,” he says. 

Kurt’s eyes glint yellow in the smoke. “Hallo,” he says. 

“Your eyes are pretty.” 

“You can see them?” 

“Yeah,” Peter says. “They’re… shiny.” 

“Shiny,” Kurt repeats. A laugh bubbles up in his throat, and Peter has to kiss him. The laughter spills into Peter’s mouth like carbonation. He holds Kurt’s face in his hands, feeling the softness of his skin, of the fur on top of it, how hot Kurt’s face is. Peter slides into Kurt’s lap, and Kurt spreads the hand without the joint across Peter’s back, wrapping his tail around Peter, too. 

Kurt’s teeth slide against Peter’s lip, and Kurt pulls back. 

“Did I hurt you?” 

“No,” Peter says. “It was hot.” 

Kurt tilts his head to the side. “You say that a lot.” 

“Everything about you’s hot, so…” Peter shrugs, wraps his arms around the back of Kurt’s neck. “Let’s do it again.”

“What about the, uh…” Kurt holds up the joint. 

“Fine. We’ll finish it.” Peter takes the joint. “What if we shotgun?” 

“What?” Kurt scrunches up his face. 

“I blow some smoke in your mouth.” 

“Why would you wanna do that?” 

Peter shrugs. “Romantic? You’re kissing _and_ smoking.” 

Kurt pauses, staring at Kurt. His eyes glint yellow in the smoke. “I do not understand your phrases,” he says. 

“Is that a no?” 

“I would like to do it, but why is it like that?” 

Peter shrugs. “English, man. What about German?” 

“My language is not like yours.” Kurt shakes his head. “I will never understand English.” 

“So, are we gonna smoke, or talk about languages?” 

Kurt blinks. “I like hearing you talk. Listening to you.” 

Peter stares at the joint. “I don’t have that cute accent, though.” 

“You have an accent to me.” 

“C’mon, let’s smoke, then talk. Uh, breathe in what I breathe out.” Peter fills his mouth with smoke, holds it, and puts his mouth to Kurt’s, blowing out the smoke gently. He can hardly breathe, not because of the smoke, but because Kurt is _that close_ to him. Maybe because he’s in Kurt’s lap, maybe because Peter feels _everything_ right now, things he’s never felt or noticed before, but Peter can’t stop thinking about pressing Kurt into the bed and doing dirty things to him. 

Kurt mumbles something in German under his breath when they separate. Peter can’t ask him about it, because he’s too busy trying not to think with his dick. God, the whole room is too hot, too small, and Peter wants nothing more than to rip off Kurt’s clothes and do dirty things with him. 

“ _Ich liebe dich_ ,” Kurt says, louder. 

Peter stares at Kurt, unfocused. He’s a beautiful blob of blue fluff with scars swirling in the weird lighting and shining yellow eyes. “Huh?” 

Kurt goes purple. “I-” he shakes his head. “It’s, uh… I love you,” Kurt says. 

Peter gasps. “Fuck,” he says. 

“I… It is a little… fast, isn’t it?” 

“No, no, no. I- Shit,” Peter breathes. “I love you, too. Shit, I love everything about you. Everything. Shit. All of you.” 

Kurt freezes, breath catching in his lungs. 

“I love you,” Peter repeats. 

Kurt grins and hugs Peter tight. Peter’s sure he’s on fire. He’s pretty sure he’s dying, or at least living for the first time, and he thought he couldn’t beat the rush from running. 

Kurt’s shaking, and Peter realizes he’s crying. 

“Hey,” Peter says, voice soft. “No, no, no. Why’re you-?” 

Kurt looks at Peter, eyes full of tears. “ _Ich liebe dich_ ,” he says. 

“I love you, too.” 

Kurt cries harder. 

“Shit,” Peter says. 

“They are happy.” Kurt wipes them away. “Happy crying.” 

Peter kisses down Kurt’s neck, running his hands along Kurt’s back. “I love you, too. I love you.” 

Kurt grabs the back of Peter’s shirt, pulling him closer and laying his head on Peter’s shoulder. 

It takes a couple moments for them to compose themselves. Kurt stops shaking as much, stops sobbing against Peter’s shoulder, stops breathing so hard. He smooths his hands over Peter’s back. 

“I do not think I like weed,” Kurt says. 

“Try it again sometime,” Peter says. He rubs his hand along Kurt’s face. “It’s pretty cool.” 

“Like you.” 

Peter smiles. “You mean like you.” 

“Nein, I-” 

Peter kisses Kurt, quick and small. “C’mon. Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.” 

Kurt nods and takes Peter’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never even touched a weed before. Also, threw an old Dan Howell reference in there. Welcome back to 2014. 
> 
> [ Nightsilver Playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/user/grammaticalhermit/playlist/6uJsZY2gCggt2Hj2xM0ITv?si=1rDK0OcGQw2T9ZCy7oYQhg)


End file.
